As Wrong as it Gets
by whyyy
Summary: SpikexVicious. Not to be taken seriously.
1. The Wrongness Begins

Title: As Wrong As It Gets  
  
Author: Whyyy  
  
Rating: R (that's what I intend eventually, but I may wuss out)  
  
Category: Crap  
  
Summary: SpikexVicious, which is...as wrong as it gets, in my humble opinion. Hence the title.  
  
Disclaimer: This is my first disclaimer. I hope I'm writing it right. Uhh, I don't own Cowboy Bebop, or any of the characters in it, and I don't really want to own them. I mean, it's a good show and all, but I'm not crazy about Spike or Vicious, so what would I do with them? ...make them have hot-lovin'-goose sex in front of my roommate, causing her copious amounts of emotional and sensory pain. Keith Roberts is also apparently a real person, my good friend Jordan's neighbor, and I do not own him either. I am not actually using him, just his name.  
  
Chapter 1 – The Wrong-ness Begins (but we'll ease into it slowly, I hope)  
  
So, it was a bright, sunny day on, let's say, Mars, and Spike Spiegel was sauntering along on a bustling city street dressed in his weird blue suit, just looking cool and all that. And smoking, of course, because Spike liked smoking a lot. He also liked being emotionally-repressed. It made him feel macho or cool or something. Why? Because guys are stupid. It's a universal fact.  
  
Now, Spike wasn't as stupid as most guys, or he would never have lived this long, "this long" being after that last fight with Vicious where he blew up a lot of Red Dragon goons with no aim whatsoever, then collapsed after saying, "Bang", which was very good and dramatic, if he'd been dead. But Spike wasn't, because a deep sword cut was nothing to getting stabbed and shot and tossed out a window from a formidably tall tower, from which he had also survived, so it only goes to reason that he'd be fine with whatever wound Vicious inflicted on him after one little slash. Therefore, after lying with his face buried in the cold concrete rubble for a while, Spike thought perhaps saying, "Bang" was a little silly, so he got back up to say something cooler and maybe limp off to get some medical attention. Then, it was only logical that the remaining Red Dragon goons would prepare to shoot him point-blank. Luckily, Faye and Jet had come to the rescue. And there was a lot of...string cheese. That part, Spike couldn't remember too clearly, what with blood loss and all.  
  
Anyway, the point was, Spike wasn't stupid, so sometimes, he overcame his emotional repression, and relived his past, or usually the most angsty parts of it, in his head and apparently one of his eyes. But Spike wasn't reliving his past now, because it was such a pleasant day, and no one angsts when it's all cheery out, so life was just dandy. He'd recovered nicely, and was now smoking and looking cool and looking for a small-time bounty called Keith Roberts and...oh, now it was raining.  
  
Rain was bad. Spike's thoughts quickly turned into a jumble of words and images: Rain...puddles...that rose in a puddle...Julia...noooooo, JUUULLLIIAAAA!!! The angst was almost too much for Spike to bear, but he couldn't escape the images. His memories kept coming at a breathtaking pace, flashes of color and sometimes sepia. Why? Because sepia is sexy. That is not a universal fact. In fact, it's a singular opinion that most normal people would not concur with.  
  
Spike, however, did not have the presence of mind to contemplate the sexiness of sepia. It had been bad enough when he hadn't known where Julia had gone and could only see her in his mind, her song echoing in his ears. Her memory had tormented him, but now it haunted him. Again, he saw her shot in the back, collapsing amid a flurry of wings beating against a gray sky. They had been together so briefly, not even a day, and the only chance he had to hold her was when she had already left.  
  
Julia...why? The dream we lived...shattered all too soon... Spike closed his eyes, but the splintered images of that day continued to dance behind his eyelids. It was my fault...I should have seen that bullet, shouted something, jumped in front of you...hell, I never should have slept with you. That's what started this whole damn thing. I should have controlled my freaking hormones and not screwed your brains out. I'm the one to blame...I mean, I can't honestly blame Vicious for flipping out...he took it very well for a psycho, actually. And I was his best friend, damnit! I should have told him...or maybe proposed a threesome. Surely he wouldn't have been adverse to that. But now you're dead, Julia, and we can't go back to that time...  
  
Spike glanced at the sky, but it was still raining, so he kept angsting. Julia...these regrets...I'm sorry...I'm a bastard, I killed you and Vicious...you actually suggested that threesome one night, but I wanted you to myself...why didn't I agree?? ...really, why not? I mean, Vicious is good- looking...in shape from all that killing people stint...cute when he's mad...I'd say downright hot and luscious, if I were into man-meat, of course...ohh Julia...Vicious...screwing Julia...screwing Vicious...er, wait a minute...  
  
Spike stopped. The sun was out again. The angsting episode was over. He had a Keith Roberts bounty to catch. Spike lit another cigarette and inhaled softly. Ahh, nicotine. Nothing like risking a little lung cancer to make him forget his horrible memories and some disturbing thoughts there near the end. As he resumed walking, Spike allowed himself to think whimsically: What would it have been like to get it on with Vicious? Of course, he knew it would never happen, Vicious being dead. On the other hand, if Vicious wasn't dead...well, it was too late for a threesome, but maybe a good old session of anal sex would make up for it. Yes, it certainly was a pity Vicious was dead as a doornail. No way he could be alive. Not even if Spike had spent a great deal of his angst episode subtly lusting after Vicious.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Elsewhere on Mars, Vicious shivered. He scowled and hugged his precious katana to his chest even tighter. It struck him as strange that he was shivering despite the fact that it was a bright and sunny day. He stuck his hand out the window of the room he'd been pacing in. Not a breeze. How odd indeed.  
  
But Vicious was not one to linger on such lowly thoughts as shivering despite the fact that there was no climatic reason for doing so. After all, he often did things for no reason. Like, looking malnourished and starved and therefore angry all the time. This time, however, he was looking angry for a reason. Where is that damn Keith Roberts? He said he had a new weapon for me, a new creepy bird-thing since I blew that last one up.  
As if on cue, a voice broke through his thoughts. "Sorry, Mr. Vicious, but Rikki Tikki here started molting and I needed to give him a tune-up."  
  
Rikki...Tikki...? Vicious blinked and, with an odd sense of unreality, turned around to see a plump cockatoo perched on Roberts's shoulder. The cockatoo was fluffy white, with rather prominent yellow crown feathers. It cocked its head sideways and whistled obnoxiously.  
  
Vicious's eyes narrowed. "Roberts, I cannot have this abomination perched on my shoulder. No one, not even a villainous jackass such as myself, can pull off an aura of menace with a fat parrot squawking into his ear."  
  
Roberts looked apologetic. "But he's so cute!"  
  
"I don't want 'cute'", Vicious snapped coldly. "I want darkness, black like my soul, evil, birds of DOOM, I want—what is it doing? What is it doing?? Shoo! Get off my shoulder, you defective avian! Roberts!"  
  
Before Roberts could rush to Vicious's aid, however, Rikki Tikki had already settled itself quite nicely on Vicious's left shoulder. Actually, not as nicely as Rikki Tikki may have wished, Vicious's shoulder being thin and bony, and Rikki Tikki being just a tad rounder than your average cockatoo, but this was more Vicious's fault for spending all of his time dreaming up plans of power and coups instead of eating a granola bar now and then.  
  
Vicious was seeing red. Bright red. Not brick red, not Indian red, but bright poinsettia red. "Get. Him. Off," he ordered Roberts.  
  
"I can't," Roberts said, looking rather panicked. A poinsetta red- seeing Vicious is frightening. "I programmed him to remain on your shoulder at all times unless you have a particular operative for him. I was only doing my job," he added even more hastily as Vicious reached for his katana.  
  
Vicious gritted his teeth. It was unlike him to lose his temper, but his last fight with Spike had left the Red Dragon syndicate in shambles. He had lost his personnel, power, and explody-bird, which he was missing more with each growing second as Rikki Tikki's claws dug into his shoulder desperately scrabbling for purchase and balance. "It's fine," Vicious finally spat, somewhat reluctantly releasing his white-knuckled grip on his katana. "He'll do for now, but you WILL build me a new bird. I expect him in two weeks. Only then will you receive your payment, is that clear?"  
  
Roberts nodded quickly, and with that, Vicious swept in a malevolent huff out of the room, like the traditional bad guy. With Rikki Tikki on his shoulder, unlike the traditional bad guy.  
  
While the events that had transpired these most recent moments seemed rather mundane albeit odd in a day of the life of Vicious, it's important to note them. This is because Vicious did not, as a matter of fact, note the bad day he was having, dismissing his bad luck as...well, bad luck. He did not notice an ominous trend suggesting that his life might indeed be going, no, accelerating downhill, culminating in a spectacular crash at the bottom of this metaphoric hell where he might possibly be hopelessly compromised into banging Spike. Or having Spike bang him. 


	2. The Wrongness Continues

Title: As Wrong As It Gets

Author: Whyyy

Rating: R

Category: Crap

Summary: SpikexVicious, which is…as wrong as it gets, in my humble opinion.  Hence the title.  They still aren't getting it on here; I wish to be thorough in my defiling of this series, so I think Jet needs a few sentences.  And I figured out how to upload passages with italics.  Oooh, ahh.  Yeah, I'm a moron.  Deal with it.  Or not.

Disclaimer: Again, I do not own Cowboy Bebop or any of the characters.  Keith Roberts is still a real person that I do not own.

why-indeed:  I'm glad you agree with yourself that sepia is sexy.  Tell me, does threatening to kill me in third-person make you feel better about yourself?  Well, I promise you that this fic is going all the way to the R-rated stuff, so I encourage you to continue reading with your eyeballs absolutely glued to the screen.  

TheWainscottWeasel:  Thanks, I'll see if I can incorporate more Rikki Tikki goodness!

Princess Brimstone:  Wowie, I'm glad you like the humor so much, and I'm even GLADDER that you think SpikexVicious is wrong.  Thanks for the review!

Shae Enspira:  Yes, there will be much banging in the chapters to come.  And definitely more putting down Spike and Vicious.  In the nicest way possible, of course (cough).  

Chapter 2 – The Wrong-ness Continues (and my computer feels increasingly dirty)

            Spike had gotten a few good hints on this Keith Roberts fellow from the random informative bystanders that apparently often plague the streets of various planets, and decided to head back to the Bebop.  He told himself the reason he was giving up for the day was because he was hungry and tired and not because he couldn't stop fantasizing about Vicious.  Definitely not because he was in desperate need of a cold shower after a particular vivid visage of Vicious in salsa and sour cream had randomly popped into his head.  _A Vicious taco salad…hell yeah…no, wait, Spike, are you crazy? Worse, are you a obsessive booby dork like GREN who plotted for ages on how to get back at Vicious and ended up dead and in a state of cross-dress while Vicious flew away happily? Nonononono, you're just hungry.  Yeah, that's it.  Honestly.  If you were really into Vicious, you'd envision him in hot chocolate or whipped cream.  Whipped, not sour.  Sour cream isn't a turn-on._

_Unless it's on some tasty Mexican dish,_ some weird tiny voice that sounded remarkably like himself if he were carrying on a heated internal monologue at the back of his head retorted evilly.  _You know what they say, that food is second only to SEX. _

           Spike's inner reason didn't put up much of a fight.  _And I DO like Mexican food.  Whipped cream is nasty, man.  …Mmm, I wonder how Vicious would look whipped…AAGH!!_

            Jet looked up in momentary alarm as Spike stumbled into the living area of the Bebop, not bothering to close the hatch.  "Spike…?" he ventured.

            Spike barely glanced at him, stomping off, muttering something about a shower, Mexican food, and…Vicious?  Jet pondered for a very, very, very, VERY brief moment how those three objects of discourse may be related.  He came up with a few interesting theories:

1) Vicious was a dirty evil man and did not like to take showers.  Neither did Mexican food.  In this manner, Vicious was very akin to Mexican food, and Spike had just realized this.  That WOULD explain why Spike was so unhappy, given his partiality to Mexican food.  No one enjoys realizing they're favorite food shared similarities with an asshat like Vicious. 

2) There had been a shower of Mexican food somewhere, due somehow to an evil plan hatched by Vicious.  Only Vicious was dead, so this shower of Mexican food had to have taken place earlier, possibly during that fateful fight where he and Faye had to save Spike from the Red Dragon goons.  Oh, and the string cheese.  Bad memories.

3) …Spike wanted to take a shower because of something having to do with Vicious and…Mexican food…

Jet quickly decided this was involving too much imagination.  Best not

to…contemplate…any more…No, most likely, his hearing was off, and Jet decided to go check up on his precious bonsai plants.

~*~*~*~     

            Spike sighed in frustration as he stepped out of the shower.  Yes, a cold shower was all very good until one started thinking how much better it would be if there was a naked but succulent psychopath in the shower as well.  Then, the cold shower no longer seemed that cold.  Oy.

            With not much else to do in the Bebop, Spike decided maybe he would go after Roberts some more.  He ambled to Jet's bonsai tree room to inform Jet that he'd be missing dinner, but stopped short when some strange noises reached his ears.  Jet's voice, to be exact, but lower and more husky.  What Spike heard went something like, "…ohhhhhHHHHHhhh, yeah baby yeah, I love it when you do that…harder, yes, HARDER!!  Ohhh…ahh!!"

            Despite the fact that furrowing one's brow can lead to headaches, Spike went ahead and did so in confusion.  Then, he stuck his head surreptitiously into the doorway of the room to see just what Jet was up to.

            Jet was standing in the center of the room, surrounded by his shelves of bonsai trees, and RUBBING himself with one of the bonsais, BOUNCING it off his crotch and immediate surrounding areas, eyes closed in ecstasy, panting loudly.  Rhythmic groans continued as Jet pounded into that poor hapless bonsai, jolting a few shaggy clumps of leaves off the branches and sending them fluttering weakly to the floor…and Spike ducked his head back out of the doorway and dashed past the room but not fast enough to miss Jet's scream of "Again!  Yeah, oh, yes, GREAT GOOGLY-MOOGLY that's good!!" 

            _Well damn, I knew he wasn't keeping those bonsais around for any good.  "Helps me relax," he said.  "For 'aesthetic purposes'".  Aesthetic, my ass…Well, MY ass is aesthetic.  Jet's with a bonsai tree is NOT.  At least my new Vicious fetish doesn't seem so bad…oh, wait, yes it still does._

               Spike had now left the Bebop and was heading back to Roberts's neighborhood.  It was getting dark, so when Spike passed a small deserted lot and overheard more strange noises, he had to squint to make out anything.  Now, one would think, after the last incident with Jet's "strange noises", Spike would be at least reticent to investigate.  Then again, nothing interesting would ever happen if Spike learned from his mistakes.  Besides, 9 out of the 10 times Spike checked stuff out, it somehow led back to his current bounty.  It's never some other aspiring criminal who has no relation whatsoever to the problems of the day.  A truly amazing and—of course, purely coincidental—phenomenon.  So, anyway, Spike decided he had no reason to worry about the strange noises; if he survived Jet's little TLC session with the bonsais, surely he could handle the source of the strange noises in some dinky lot.  Most likely, it would lead him to Roberts.  Finally, some normalcy.  

            Grinning smugly to himself at the prospect of finding Roberts, Spike trotted closer, eyes adjusting to the rather crappy lighting in the lot space and taking in the lanky silhouette of a man…a man with hair that couldn't decide if it wanted to be chin-length or shoulder-length and therefore very difficult to describe…a man with a haggard appearance and bold yet slitted eyes…a man surrounded in an aura of brooding mystery and cold evil…a man with…a…cockatoo…

            Spike's heart had been threatening to pound its way through his chest as the features of this second man increased in clarity with each nearing step, but the cockatoo came out of nowhere, right-field, as they say, and with the whole silent suspense gig ruined, he simply blurted out, incredulous, "Vicious, is that a cockatoo??"

~*~*~*~

            Rikki Tikki had to go.  Without a question.  Vicious growled something obscene under his breath as the remarkably overfed cyborg cockatoo shit on his T-shirt.  Again.  After the meeting with Roberts, he had only gotten a few blocks before Rikki Tikki heard nature's call.  And when nature called, it called for Rikki Tikki to relieve himself right then and there on Vicious's most prized plain black coat without even attempting to relocate somewhere else, like the air.  Vicious remembered hearing somewhere that wearing white was bad because it made dirt and other stains more visible, and it had made sense at the time.  However, he was forced to reassess the validity of the statement as he reached the apartment he had holed himself up in, coat shoulders covered in a thick half-dried layer of dirty-white tropical bird fecal matter.

            How in the Seven Circles of Hell can an engineered overgrown parakeet SHIT?  That's what Vicious wanted to know, and he had demanded this knowledge from Roberts exactly 2.2 milliseconds after he had entered his lodge and slammed the door behind him.  The phone conversation that ensued went something like this:

            "Hello?"

            "ROBERTS!!  How in the Seven Circles of Hell can an engineered overgrown parakeet SHIT?"

            "What?  …Oh!  Oh, you mean Rikki Tikki!"  A silence of disapproval.  "He's a cockatoo, Mr. Vicious, not a parakeet."

            "Roberts, I don't care what kind of bird he is.  He is a SHITTING bird.  Do you understand??!  A bird that shits.  Lets loose organic waste.  On.  My.  Coat."

            "Well, of course.  Doesn't it make him more realistic?  After that last exploding bird, people are going to be a mite more suspicious of any birds perched on your shoulder like a second head.  If he goes every few minutes, people will see and think--"    

            Vicious's heart had stopped.  "Did you say 'every few minutes'?"

            A pause on the other end.  "…err, yes.  But only when you're moving.  It makes his mechanical bowels move around a bit faster, so you see…"

            Vicious grabbed his katana again.  God he loved his katana at moments like this.  It made him feel so much more manly.  Or maybe he was trying to overcompensate for something else.  And there were only a few things men like Vicious tried to overcompensate for.  Certainly not eyebrow wax.  Or sunblock.  In any case, Vicious squeezed his katana's hilt for moral support and barked into the phone with what he thought was admirable calm, "I'm coming over, and you are removing this feathered monstrosity from my shoulder.  Then, you are either providing me with a replacement, or I will stick my katana through your nasal cavity."

            Roberts was understandably flustered.  "But, Mr. Vicious, you gave me two weeks!  It's hardly been two hours!  I don't have a replacement for you!"

            Vicious cursed.  He HAD given Roberts two weeks.  This was where it positively rocked to be evil, he thought.  "Did I say two weeks?  Funny, I don't remember.  You have 5 hours.  That should be adequate.  If not…" he let his voice trail off because it's always more psychologically tortuous to let one's lackeys sweat and imagine the promised consequences, and also because he couldn't think of any good/evil threats.  That nasal cavity bit had been a good touch; he should have saved it for the end.  Vicious never was good at making threats, or comebacks for that matter.  That was why he usually spewed weird philosophical phrases about angels and devils and blood that were just confusing enough to sound cool as long as no one ever re-thought them.  Still, Vicious thought perhaps it would be a good idea to brainstorm up some new threats of physical harm, and so he made a list over the next five hours.  After he'd changed into his white T-shirt with "Kill Spike" first, of course.  One of the few T-shirts he regularly wore, usually for bed.  He'd gotten the "Kill Spike" bit after one too many drinks with Lin one night.  He'd been chagrined at first; it was just so childish, but it did aptly sum up one of his long-term goals in life.  And compared to some of the other events that alcohol-induced night…but that's another story.

            So it was now five hours later, and Vicious was making his way to Robert's workshop rather eagerly.  So eager, as a matter of fact, to be free of the creature (he could not bring himself to call it Rikki Tikki), that he wasn't alerted to the presence of anyone else in the lot until someone shouted, "Vicious, is that a cockatoo??"  Then he was alerted.        

            And oh so confused.  Because the man who shouted that most embarrassing of inquiries sounded and rather looked like the man whose name was imprinted on his shirt.  In other words, it seemed as if Spike was not only alive and well, but had appeared in of all places and of all times here for the express purpose of staring at him getting pooped on by a high-tech weapon in the guise of a retarded parrot that could not control its own digestive tract.  Oh, the irony.  Oh, the humanity.  Oh, what a great dramatic moment to end on.


	3. The Wrongness is Hinted at Via Ugly Pick...

Title: As Wrong As It Gets

Author: Whyyy

Rating: R (I'm getting there damnit)

Category: Crap

Summary: SpikexVicious, which is…as wrong as it gets, in my humble opinion. Hence the title. Also, I shamelessly beat around the bush, thereby delaying the evil but inevitable yaoi scene for another chapter. But no worries, Spike and Vicious still act like idiots. Hoo-yah!

Disclaimer: I do not own Cowboy Bebop or any of the characters. Or the pickup lines, which I came across after Googling "worst pickup lines".

Note: It has been at least a month since I last updated. If you are one of the truly crazy (but I mean that in the nicest most complimentary way possible) readers out there who apparently get my vindictive sense of humor and actually anticipate the uploading of these chapters, I apologize for my writing hiatus. If not, never mind. And if you're my roommate, shut up, I'm getting to the yaoi scene already. And thank you, friend Austine, for your contributions to this fic.

Spinereader: Well, there IS major OOC, but I'm really flattered you think it's witty! I feel so special :)!

Wilwarin: You're quite welcome for the bonsai trees! I'll see if I can slip some more yummy shrubbery scenes in for ya!

AnonymousTrigunOtaku: I certainly wouldn't be adverse to writing some grotesque Trigun fic, but I'll have to finish the series. It's tragic, I know, that I still haven't watched all of Trigun, but most of the anime I watch is when I mooch off my friends. Hell, I only recently finished watching Cowboy Bebop because my roommate pretty much made me (and this fic is to express my gratitude). But I'll definitely keep Trigun in mind as a future project! Thanks for enjoying the fic so much, and I agree with you about the GW yaoi fics. They get…a little out of hand.

Krystal-flames: Thanks, and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!

Vegetasbride1669: Oh yeah, the wrongness will prevail, and if it weren't for you pervs, I wouldn't have an audience, so thank you!

Jean: Yay, I made someone chuckle! And I shall keep writing, hopefully more constantly now that it's summer.

Chapter 3 – The Wrong-ness is Hinted at Via Ugly Pickup Lines

To Spike's credit, the first thought that came to mind after addressing Vicious was not _Hot damn, I am SO going to rape him_. No, that was his seventh thought. His first one was, _Wow, it really is Vicious. After all, he answered to the name._ His next thought was then, _Unless he's a different Vicious. Like an evil twin brother. Only…Vicious WAS evil, so maybe this is his…uhh, good twin brother?_ After which, his third thought was naturally, _If he's good, will that mean he's more likely to climb into bed with me?_ It was amazing how lightning-fast these thoughts flew through Spike's head. Then again, he was this awesome bounty hunter with the ability to create some poisonous lobster mold purely with the aid of an everyday freezer and run up buildings when the mood seized him. However, it should be noted that despite the breathtaking speed of Spike's critical deductive skills, Vicious clearly was a regular mental champ himself, because he cut short Spike's deluge of keen reflections by snapping tersely, "So what if it _is_ a cockatoo?"

This brought Spike up short. He blinked. "Well, uh…that's…good." Vicious didn't seem inclined to say much more about his having a cockatoo, so Spike continued, trying to pick up the conversation from where it was lying on the gravelly asphalt-y ground of the lot, between a few pebbles, "It brings out the…milky white goodness of your skin." There. That was pretty damn smooth, Spike thought, given the abrupt circumstances of this midnight rendezvous. It had just the right amount of come-hither sensual undertone, but was subtler than "I want to jump your bones". Truly a prize of an opening statement. Oh yes, he hadn't been the Red Dragons for so long just for his petty gun skills.

Sadly, it seemed as if Vicious had already heard this "milky white goodness" line before, because he glared broken pieces of tennis racket, which are a step up from daggers because they have splinters, at Spike, then unceremoniously changed the subject with yet another question, probably a social blunder that could get one killed in some backward third-world space colonies, "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

Which led to Spike's fourth thought: _Me? (mental scoff) Hellooo, I've survived hallucinogenic mushrooms and Faye's random fanservice poses_. This led him to say, "Me? Hellooo, I've survived hallucinogenic mushrooms and Faye's random fanservice poses," disdainfully, and scoff. When he didn't elaborate, those two sentences being the entirety of his thought, and Vicious didn't deign to respond, Spike had to search for another conversational lifesaver, and that was his fifth thought: _I guess this isn't Vicious's good twin brother then, if he thinks so lowly of my survival skills._ This was followed quickly by his sixth thought: _But wait, if this is normal evil Vicious, shouldn't HE be dead, getting shot fatally through the chest and all? Unless one wasn't actually shot fatally through the shot, and was actually shot through some less critical body part close enough to appear as the chest from certain angles. Like the toe. Not that that's what happened to Vicious, I don't think._

Vicious, seeming to read the question written all over Spike's face, growled, "I was shot through the toe."

That explained a few things. Well. That really was a relief. After all, Spike had really been befuddled over how to shack it up with Vicious posthumously. With everything all cleared up, Spike was ready for his greatest and seventh thought. _Hot damn, I am SO going to rape him._ But this _was_ Vicious _with_ a katana _and_ a cockatoo. Better tread carefully. Straightening, Spike did his best to waggle his eyebrows, then said sultrily, "So baby, what's your sign?"

The dim lamplight gloriously reflected the whites of Vicious's eyes as they appeared to be widening. "…what?" The cockatoo, not to be left out of the dramatic conversation, whistled, ruffled his feathers, and echoed, "What's your sign? Raawk! What's your sign?" This was followed by two wet sounding 'plops' and something Spike couldn't quite make out in the light landed on Vicious's shoulder. Vicious's eyes stopped widening and started twitching.

In all his years of flirting and stealing other people's pleather-wearing girlfriends, Spike's heartwinning pickup lines had never been met with such a reaction. So what did he do? Never a quitter, Spike tried again. "Hey, Vicious, you must have a mirror in your pants 'cuz I can see myself in them."

Vicious seemed a bit preoccupied with strangling the cockatoo to respond. Spike stifled a sigh. How did Julia ever manage to land this coy testicle with legs? It certainly was lucky that Spike knew so many pickup lines. "Vicious, let's go play house. You be the screen door, and I'll slam you all day long."

The damn cockatoo was distracting Vicious. Alright, to be fair, Vicious was yelling, "How would you like it if I shit on you??" a little too loudly to hear

Spike's pimp-daddy sweet talk. It was time to up the ante; maybe these lines were a mite too subtle.

"Vicious?" Spike cleared his throat. Vicious finally hurled the abused parrot to the ground, and gave Spike The Look. The Look cannot be described, but it's the standard classic Vicious Look. Not because it's that unique or bone-chilling-fear-inspiring—really, Vicious just looked as if he smelled something bad—but because Vicious wore it so perpetually, so either he had supernatural olfactory powers, or he was born all angry with The Look. That certainly would explain the lines on his face. But at least Vicious was looking at Spike again, so Spike resumed his suave oration. "Vicious, let me tell you: I like every muscle in your body, especially mine."

It would appear Vicious got the gist of that statement, because his eyes went wide without that actual widening part. They were just suddenly as big and round as beanbag chairs or maybe monster cookies, with that whole deer-in-the-headlights look. It was rather refreshing, and Spike couldn't help but imagine Vicious looking so sweetly helpless and caught underneath him, ready to be ravished like a dead Amazonian deer by a school of rabid piranhas. Spike managed to calm himself and Spike Jr. down by pondering on the significance of why he kept comparing Vicious to deer, and then decided one last powerful uber-sexy line would do the trick. "And I'll bet your legs are just like butter."

Almost nervously, Vicious glanced down at his legs. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Spike grinned cheekily. "It means they're smooth, creamy, and easy to spread."

Vicious began coughing violently. Terrified he was about to lose the object of his lusty affections, Spike hurried over to Vicious's side. "What is it? Spit? Gum? Allergies?"

"…Shut UP!! What the hell is wrong with you??" Vicious demanded in between gags. Spike obliged and remained quiet, patting Vicious's back in a friendly, almost maternal gesture to soothe him. Then reached down an iota lower and squeezed Vicious's right cheek, the one that wasn't on his face. Ahh, so soft and pliant, yet sculpted like a Greek statue of Apollo. Yep, that's what Spike thought. Being all crazily in lust causes one to start thinking in overly-sappy gushy phrases with similes and weird allusions all the time. It's like a mental illness. Like schizophrenia, but much worse, because the voices in your head just keep using the same phrases over and over again in an attempt to sound romantic. Vicious meanwhile was busily and uncharacteristically shrieking his larynx out. Then again, for any sort of semi-romantic relationship between him and Spike to work, there was going to have to be quite a deal of uncharacteristic-ness on both sides. With Spike's willingness to throw his normal behaviors out the window, and Vicious's rapidly losing his grip on his usual character mannerisms, the two were well on their way.


	4. The Wrongness Strikes FullForce

Title: As Wrong As It Gets

Author: Whyyy

Rating: R (hahaha, I didn't wuss out!!)

Category: Crap

Summary: SpikexVicious, which is…as wrong as it gets, in my humble opinion. Hence the title.

Disclaimer: I do not own Cowboy Bebop or any of the characters.

Warning: Okay, here it is. OMG IT'S VICIOUS RAPE!! WRONG WRONG WRONG. RAPE IS ICKY, MALE/MALE SEX MAKES SOME PEOPLE UNHAPPY, AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, I FREELY ADMIT KNOW NEXT TO NOTHING ABOUT SEX. THEREFORE, THE PHYSICAL DESCRIPTIONS OF SUCH SEXUAL ACTS WILL PROBABLY MAKE NO SENSE AND YET I WILL SHAMELESSLY PLOW ON, TYPING EPIC PARAGRAPHS OF BAD IMAGERY. Well, I'm not sure, actually, if it's rape 'cuz in anime, sometimes one character is like 'nooooooo' and another character is all, 'yeessss', and they end up having forceful sex, but the 'nooooooo' character had no complaints at the end. …anyways, in closing, those of you who have actually read this far, I commend you on your…sickness. BUT, up until now, the fic has largely been just…stupid, but now it is stupid AND gross. Mwa ha ha ha…ha…ha. I mean, this is FREAKY. I feel sick trying to edit this. You just might read it and get hives or something. SO BE WARNED (but still feel free to flame; this is a response I've expected ever since I began this debauchery). Of course, if you're my roommate, READ IT ALL. Twice.

Jean/again: Sorry this chapter took so long. On the other hand, if you actually read this, I'm rather sure you're going to wish I just dropped this fic. So…sorry again :P.

Aki the 13th Gung ho Gun: Heh thanks for the review. Here's the fourth chappie. But the funniness ends here, so read at your own risk.

TheSadist: weak laugh Thanks for the support. Hope you're a masochist too. XD

Neko-jin Rogue: Hooray, I'm glad/a little scared you liked this so much! Terribly sorry the chapter wasn't there for you, but uh…enjoy. Hopefully. Probably not.

magical mystery tourguide: Aww my first negative review. Haha, awesome-ness. What made you think it'd be good in the first place, though? oO

Chapter 4 – The Wrong-ness Strikes Full-Force

Spike's day was finally starting to look almost phenomenally better. Feeling Vicious's fleshy derriere between his fingers sent an electric shiver of pleasure up his spine and simultaneously to that dubious place between his legs we call the groin. Further exploration of the groin will follow briefly.

But before the groin and its associates can do their thang, Spike had to get more of Vicious's scrumpdiddlyumptious body between his fingers, and he wasn't all that worried. After all, if he and Vicious appeared to hate one another with a passion hotter than the flames of Hell, did it not mean they subconsciously desired one another? It's a basic pairing tenement: Rivals just want some hanky-panky with one another. The curses and weapons they fling at one another are simply borne of a tumultuous overbearing sexual tension and unstoppable attraction. And Vicious had been Spike's friend at one point, anyway. Another indication that he wanted him right here, right NOW. Honestly, what other conclusion could one jump to?

Spike decided that enough time had been wasted building up to or possibly just stalling this moment and grabbed Vicious, bringing his lips down on top of the shorter man's in a bruising kiss. Vicious gasped like a squirrel that had lost all its nuts, hands clutching at Spike's jacket collar, the fabric balling between his slender fingers. Spike's tongue demanded entry at the corner of Vicious's mouth, probably wiggling around and poking between the lips. Now, some skeptics might point out that it should be difficult and nigh impossible for a tongue to just barge its way into another person's mouth, particularly if that person was ardently against having a tongue forced down his throat. Well, said skeptics have a point. That notwithstanding, Spike's tongue managed to squeeze in and began to explore the warm caverns that were Vicious's mouth.

And Vicious was delish. He tasted like honey and vanilla and strawberries and roasted turkey and pickles and rhubarb pie. No, make that apple pie. Spike was positively heady with Vicious's unique flavor as he sucked and nibbled, trailing his tongue along the line of his captive's fine jaw and arched neck, leaving a burning trail of saliva on the opalescent skin, glowing ethereally in the odd mixture of lamp and moonlight. These ministrations left Vicious whimpering softly, because would-be anime rapees always whimper as opposed to, say, screaming their lungs out, but he managed to regain enough of his senses and usual character-ness to struggle against Spike's almost inhuman hold. Normally, it would seem Vicious, being a cunning killer with a katana and the brains to take on some weirdo syndicate, would be able to put up a fair fight and even fashion some sort of escape. Alas, he'd somehow dropped his katana in the confusion and it was now (in)conveniently out of his reach. And any adrenaline pumping through Vicious's system was nothing compared to the power of pheromones and lust going wild in Spike's. In other words, Spike is having an unrealistically easy time having his way with Vicious. C'est la vie, Vicious.

Meanwhile, as Spike was necking Vicious, one hand was also busy slipping underneath Vicious's 100% cotton torsowear, running his fingertips lightly against the supple sides of the straining body against him, while the other hand clamped firmly down on the back of Vicious's neck to keep his rape victim from breaking free and heading for the hills. In case one was wondering what Vicious was doing while Spike was working so diligently away on his sexual assault, well, Vicious was just making pitiful little whiny grunts of protest, such as "…no…nnnngghh…" or something. Finally, Spike just ripped off Vicious's shirt in a sex-ified frenzy with a loud satisfying rip, exposing Vicious's entire well-toned marble (the white sort, without any black streaks) chest and two dark nipples.

Vicious was, of course, indignant about his shirt being destroyed, and tried to say so. Like so: "Damnit Spike, that was my shirt, you ass."

And Spike responded by doing something creative to his nipples. And not like painting them. And Vicious liked that, oh yes he did, despite his best efforts not to. He was, after all, still a man. So he gasped and writhed, his hips unconsciously bucking like a bronco at Spike's. Seriously. Like a bronco. Because similes are AWESOME, and add to the wild and burning hot yaoi action.

Spike leered at Vicious's reaction, and decided it was time for some heavy-duty boffing. He flipped the pretty-much-technically-not-resisting Vicious around onto…a…nearby car, since the lot they were in was not just any old lot, but a DESERTED PARKING lot. Vicious shivered at the shock of cold metal touching his bare skin that was rapidly warming up under Spike's wickedly talented hands. He started to stand back up and finally fight back, although it was already rather despairingly late for that, but Vicious froze again as Spike's arms went around him, deftly unbuckling his belt and pulling down his pants and boxers in one fluid motion.

Well, it's not hard to guess the rest. Honestly, 1 naked Vicious bent over on some car with no alarm 1 savagely horny Spike? Do the math. But okay. So Spike reached into his pants and whipped out his penis/cock/manhood/family jewels/insert another laughable euphemism. So, what does Spike's penis/cock/manhood/family jewels/insert another laughable euphemism look like? Firstly, it was BIG, because it wouldn't do for it to be small here. Next, it was meaty, but maybe a little wrinkly around the edges. Vein-y. Tan, like the rest of his wonderfully virile body. And ready to splurt torrents and torrents of semen in Class V torrents. Satisfied?

And then, Spike took that big ol' organ of his and stuffed it in a fun spot of Vicious's where the sun don't shine. And Vicious went, "OOOWWWWWWWWW!!" because it HURT. Aaand…that's enough. For now. Dun dun dun.


	5. The Wrongness Uses Star Wars on the Side...

Title: As Wrong As It Gets

Author: Whyyy

Rating: R

Category: Crap

Summary: SpikexVicious, which is…as wrong as it gets, in my humble opinion. Hence the title.

Disclaimer: I do not own Cowboy Bebop or any of the characters.

Warning: So…wow, it appears I have not enraged anyone enough to get booted off That's just amazing. Scary amazing. I mean, good God, there are some really tolerant people on the net. And since I'm still here, I might as well milk it for all its worth. So here's another chapter. One during which I realized I forgot lubricant, which I have learned (through reading other yaoi fanfics because I RESEARCH and TOIL to make sure my fanfics are of the finest quality) is rather important. So I fixed it. Sort of. Okay, I already warned you people about the graphic wrong-ness in the previous chapter, so read or don't read at your discretion. Ho hum…other warnings…oh yeah. I don't own Star Wars. George Lucas does, I believe, and he can keep it. Sorensen was the first last name I found lying on my desk; I do not own that either.

authenticpoppy – Haha well that's good. Laughter is the best medicine…or something… Thanks for the review!

Nis-chan – Yaaaay!! My fic is loveable!

Shae Enspira – Heh well I warned you. And c'mon, who doesn't want to know EXACTLY how Spike's man-parts look? P

cowgirlnoir – Yeah you're definitely right about the 'tenement' versus 'tenet' thing. Good call! I can't bear to re-read this craziness after I write it, so there are probably a lot of typos. I apologize ahead of time. But glad you like the fic nonetheless. And thank you for not reporting me :).

Tokyo Jazz – I shall gladly write more. Here's another chapter just for you!

Vegetasbride1669 – Thank you kindly. Hope you like this latest installation!

Ami-kun22 – Weird senses of humor are the best. I shall indeed keep up the work. Thanks!

narcoleptic shishkabob – w00t I'm a favorite! So honored!! Thaaaank yoouuu!

Chapter 5 – The Wrong-ness Uses Star Wars on the Side of Evil

Back to where we left Spike anally raping Vicious, well, Spike was enjoying himself rather heartily as he slammed his swollen member into Vicious's tight, heated opening. Vicious, on the other hand, was in some serious pain, as he felt himself stretched to the limit. White dots of pain danced Hawaiian hulas before his eyes. So he cried like a little girl. But no, this is Vicious. Badass, hard-core killer Vicious. No way in Hell was he going to take this. After all, if he did, logically speaking, he'd get seriously damaged, and then the story would have nowhere to go. So he said, "Hey Spike, how 'bout some lubricant?"

And Spike thought for a moment, and said, "Lube is for the weak."

And then Vicious gritted his teeth and said, "I want some lube, damnit."

And then Spike looked down at Vicious, looking so sweetly submissive, crystal tears quivering on the brink of falling off long lashes, and a strange pang shot through his heart. _He was once my friend, but we're enemies now. Why should I care if I hurt him? This is purely physical need. Once this is over, I'll never think of him again. So…why…why does it bother me that he's not enjoying this? Why is that I want…I actually want to pleasure him?_ …Of course, these were purely Rhetorical Questions with a capital 'R' and 'Q'. These Rhetorical Questions would never actually lead to the discovery of a deeper wellspring of overflowing emotions. Nope, no way in Hell. Or anywhere else. At least for now.

But, enough digression. The lack of lube was getting to Vicious, so he snarled with his last torn and shredded and vivisected shred of dignity, "If you don't give me lube, it'll mean…uhh, you eat poo."

Well, that cinched it. Let it not be said that Spike Spiegel ate poo. So Spike sighed and shrugged and pulled some lubricant out of his jacket. From wherever he magically pulls out his gun for cool action scenes. It's possible. Really. And then he opened the lubricant and spread the thin gel all over his cock. For that would be the next most logical thing to do, other than coming to his senses and leaving Vicious alone. Next, because it would be a damn shame to leave any hot details out of this scenario, Spike used his fingers, still coated with the lube, to prod Vicious's entrance. Entrance, as in for none other than Spike's turgid, pulsating length (in case there was ANY confusion); turgid, as in the healthy state of plant cells; pulsating, as in a light saber. One of the green ones, because green is a soothing color.

Sadly, Vicious was not soothed, and he groaned and shuddered as he felt Spike's digits slowly enter him, rubbing against the tight ring of muscle. His moans only enflamed the sensual fire coursing through Spike's veins. Quickly, Spike extracted his fingers, and replaced them once more with his lightsaber, and more tears sprung to Vicious's eyes. But fear not, they were manly tears. This time, because there was good oily lube-y goodness, Spike was able to shove his lightsaber fast and rough to the hilt, so his balls slapped against Vicious's firm globes. A hoarse cry escaped Vicious's lips even as he arched against Spike. Spike quickly reached around and fisted Vicious's lightsaber, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Which is probably a grand feat, come to think of it. It's like being able to tap your head and rub your stomach in rhythm. Or maybe the other way around. Anyway, _you_ probably couldn't do it.

Well, this stroking business certainly was pleasurable for Vicious, and soon he had lost himself in the sweet sensation of Spike's warm hand on his lightsaber, sending searing heat and soaring titillation—the best English word known to man—sparking through his body, pushing backwards against Spike's rocking, aching to be penetrated deeper. Every fiber of his body craved Spike's touch, and Spike seemed to sense this as he bent forward to plant soft strong kisses on Vicious's back and shoulders, nipping the pliant and flushed skin. Vicious, still manly, sobbed, "Spiiiikeee…I need it…more, please…". The urgency and pleading in that voice caused Spike's heart to make a strange jump. He quickly shifted so he could position better, then rammed down hard into Vicious so that the tip of his lightsaber struck Vicious's prostate dead-on. After all, Spike has always had divine bounty hunter aim. And, get this: Vicious's prostate didn't disintegrate like most people struck by a lightsaber. No, instead, it did a little dance and squealed, "YAY!", and sent more bolts of pure ecstasy tingling through Vicious.

Since all masterpieces of literature have profound dialogue, Vicious finally was sent over the edge as Spike gave his lightsaber a particularly long and hard squeeze, so he threw back his head and screamed, "SPIIIKKEE!!" as jets of his passion ejected from his lightsaber, coating Spike's hand. Truly, his lightsaber would make any Jedi green with envy. Because green is also the color of jealousy.

Sadly, Vicious was not jealous. He was too busy sagging bonelessly on the car as Spike climaxed inside him, marking him as his forever. A…really creepy and disturbing concept. So is rape. But who cares? Not you.

Exhausted, Vicious couldn't help drifting into a satiated sleep. Slowly, Spike withdrew from Vicious's warm, sweat-soaked body and stared down at his unconscious angel. His…murderous, manipulative, egotistical, bastardly angel, who basically isn't anything close to an angel, but love is blind and incredibly sappy and unoriginal.

…wait…did he just say love? Oh GOD, he, Spike Spiegel, was in love with Vicious Sorenson. …wait…did he just say Sorenson? What the hell, that's not Vicious's last name. But it _did_ sound better than "in love with Vicious", didn't it? Otherwise, it sounds like he's in love with an adjective.

These thoughts were not helping Spike put his clothes back on, so he stopped thinking them because it was sort of cold now that the sex was over. He considered putting Vicious's clothes back on for him since the guy was out like a light, but Vicious really looked good in the buff and clearly the cold wasn't bothering him. Hmm, maybe he really _was_ an angel. A cold-impervious angel. Wouldn't that be ironic. Apparently, Spike's mind wanders greatly after sex.

Sooo what to do now? Spike pondered for a moment, then decided he might as well take Vicious back with him. This was probably not going to be the good math when Vicious woke up, but again, that's l'amour. Plus he had to introduce his new beau to Jet, Faye, Ed, and Ein. Oh ho ho ho. That's a serious cliffhanger right there.


	6. The Wrongness Tries Its Hand at Script F...

Title: As Wrong As It Gets

Author: Whyyy

Rating: R

Category: Crap

Summary: SpikexVicious, which is…as wrong as it gets, in my humble opinion. Hence the title.

Disclaimer: I do not own Cowboy Bebop or any of the characters. Or Gatorade. If this surprises you…that's ok. You still have my permission and blessing to read this fanfic.

Warning: Extreme hardcore…stupidity. Probably made even more unbearable since I decided to completely SHAME the art of writing in script format…thingy. Not sure there's a technical term for that. And since I take a strange pleasure in writing warnings, I will also add, as in all previous chapters, given that it's SPIKEXVICIOUS, that there is lots of OOC. Wow I used a fanfic abbreviation! I feel like some sort of…fanfic writing veteran!! Ooh, and this chapter is a little longer, I think, largely because of all the spacing, since it's in script format…thingy, so there's prolonged exposure here. Your brain just may rot, turning you into a ZOMBIE. Also, I'm not sure if this really counts as a warning, but I refer to Ed as a girl, although I know some people might not agree or something, so if you think Ed is something else, neato and have a great life.

ADDITIONAL NOTE: This chapter is a birthday-ish dedication to my friend Matt for liking my fanfic and putting it in his profile with a cool hyperlink thing that I have no idea how to do and thus am in great awe of. Happy Birthday Matt!

narcoleptic shishkabob – Glad you liked the lightsabers! :) Maybe more fun should be had with Star Wars in later chapters…

authenticpoppy – Hmm, I hadn't actually considered the legality of the matter. I think, if an angel wants some lovin', lawmakers certainly wouldn't want to deny him that. On the other hand, if it's rape, yeah, definitely illegal. For Mars, anyway. P

Nis-chan – Aww I hope I added this chapter soon enough, and if not, terribly sorry for the wait!

Tokyo Jazz – I'm honored to have the privilege of fking you up. And allow me to congratulate you on having a superb sense of humor!

Ami-kun22 – It sure is, and maybe a little roommate torture P.

Vegetasbride1669 – Thanks for the review! Here's your continuation!

g50 – I want you to know that nothing is as touching as the fact that you created an account solely to review this fic. As a writer, there is no greater or fulfilling reward as the knowledge of having touched another through his/her work…except for the GBA SP and Golden Sun. Or those Girl Scout cookies (Tagalongs, were they?). And your review, by the way, is a work of art in itself. I'm terribly sorry it got cut off, but maybe it's better that way; otherwise, it might just go all to my head, and then I'd be…a bad person. Again, if you did not read the additional note, this chapter is for YOU!

Dominic Shade – Weeelll, if you want to be technical about it, the category says Crap. And if you want to be more detailed about it, it's about Spike raping Vicious. Either way, it's good fun, eh?

Abunai – Wowee, thanks! I am most flattered. May you continue to enjoy my story, or at least not hate it!

tpp – Thank you, thank you, and thank you again! And pimp as much as you like!

anime animal – Thanks for the instant faving! And if I ever want babies, I'll be sure to let you know.

chibi legato – Heh, you're probably sick, but so am I, so it's all fine!

Chapter 6 – The Wrong-ness Tries Its Hand At Script Format…Thingy

Jet was aghast. Agape and agog. Dumbfounded and dumbstruck. Flabbergasted and flustered. And maybe even a little turned on, as his longtime compadre Spike paraded back onto the ship with an unconscious and naked Vicious slung over his shoulder like a bag of trash (nonrecyclables only; Jet was very conscious of how trees were used _of course_).

Faye looked like she too might have something annoying to say, but it was hard to tell since she was crouching on her hands and knees on the sofa, and she'd stuck her physical butt in the air (her cigarette butt was placed responsibly somewhere…like somewhere else on the sofa), and was currently wiggling it around. Not an uncommon action from Faye, although slightly rarer than her usual leggy poses and gratuitous booby shots and slightly more frequent than her random extraneous grunts and sighs in the dub. Still, it would have been nice to hear her opinion, since Jet was still too busy being stunned and oafish and competing with the dynamic duo, Ed and Ein, for comic relief. Ed generally dominated the competition, but she lost points now and then for starting wars and genocide over what her gender was when all she really has to do is say clearly just once, "I am a girl/boy/Oompa Loompa, damnit."

Speaking of genocide, the crew had reunited with Ed and Ein during the infamous…Jambalya Man and his Couscous gang incident. Don't remember such an incident? That's too bad and also normal. But it was quite the adventure. So yeah, Ed was currently singing and doing some physically crazy but uproariously funny antic. Braiding her tongue or something. Who knows? And Ein was doing what any super intelligent dog would be doing, licking his crotch. Ed grinned widely at Spike as he trundled over. "Hi, Spike."

"Hi, Ed."

"What's that you got over your shoulder?"

"Uhh, my shoulder, you say?" Insert nervous laughter and sweatdrops. Sweatdrops, by the way, are really sort of disturbing. Sure, sweat that trickles makes sense because there's gravity and a trickle-path and stuff. But beaded sweat…beaded sweat is one tricky bastard. It's as if, some of the sweat glands are all ready to go, and the others are just not up to the job or something. And Neon Gatorade sweat doesn't count because the people who sweat neon Gatorade sweat always look…angry, and no one cares about angry people sweat. But back to the nonexistent point, sweatdrops have no stream in between the drops. Sweatdrops sporadically burgeon out of nowhere. When one looks at someone's, say, bead-sweating cheek, they go, "Oh okay, here we have normal skin, skin, skin…OHMIGOD A GIANT PROTRUDING SWEATDROP…oh okay okay, here we go, skin, skin, more skin…HOLY CRAPOLA ANOTHER SWEATDROP…" and so on. Right? …right…but back to Ed.

It's a good thing Ed was not someone easily taken aback by disturbing things, being one herself. She was probably on very good terms with sweatdrops, come to think of it. So, she just continued to smile at Spike. "Yeah, you're carrying something over your shoulder. It kind of looks like a naked man." She thought for a very fleeting second. "Or maybe that giant awesome sombrero and poncho you had for maybe two hours tops during that one bounty hunt for no reason, and then lost, also for no reason."

Vicious chose this moment to wake up, naturally; how could he not, after hearing Ed disparage his nude form? "I most certainly do _not_ look like a sombrero and poncho! Especially not Spike's sombrero and poncho!" And, then, everyone decided to start talking. And now, since dialogue in paragraph form takes longer to write out with who said "ewerjakdfjaw" and who said "lskdjfoiweaj" and time is money…

The Script Format…Thingy Section

(complete with stage directions so you can reenact it with your friends!)

Spike: (_to Vicious) _How would you know? You weren't there when I was wearing them. _(to Ed_) I did not lost the sombrero or poncho. I brought them back on the ship, and after a few weeks, they disappeared.

Jet: _(finally finding his voice)_ Well, I didn't take them.

Faye or Faye's Ass (FoFA): Me neither.

Vicious: One doesn't have to see the sombrero or poncho to know I do not look like either!

Ein: _(exits the room because he's smarter than the rest of them put together)_

Spike: _(to FoFA_): What are you doing over there anyway with your butt in the air?

FoFA: Do I really need a reason to have my butt in the air? What else am I supposed to do if not act as blatant fanservice?

Spike: I dunno, but I want a reason.

FoFA: Fine. I lost a quarter. Fell down between the cracks, you know?

Spike: Oh ok, I hate it when that happens.

Vicious: …are you people listening to me?

Spike: Yeah, sure. You don't like sombreros or ponchos because they're Mexican.

Vicious: I—what?? That's not what I said at all!

Spike: It was implied.

Vicious: That's a filthy lie!

Ed: _(sings)_ Filthy, filthy, filthy… _(skips out of the room because the conversation is demented enough without her in it)_

Spike: Oh, so you think Mexicans are filthy now, do you? Really, Vicious, I thought you were more open-minded than that.

Jet: Yeah, we don't condone racism on this ship.

Vicious: I'm not being racist! Not that I care about being condoned on this ship.

Jet: By the way, Spike, what is he doing here?

Spike: He's my rapee.

Faye: _(standing up from the sofa) _Your what?

Spike: My rapee. I'm the raper, he's the rapee.

Jet: You mean, 'rapist'?

Spike: Oh yeah, that's it.

Vicious: Uhh, your sofa is on fire from Faye's cigarette. _(is not really heard)_

Spike: _(to Jet and Faye)_ Sorry, I was thinking of an 'employer' and 'employee'.

Jet: Quite alright. But since it's not 'raper', 'rapee' probably isn't the right term for Vicious.

Faye: True dat. So what would that make him?

Spike, Jet, Faye: _(silence as they ponder, deep in thought)_

Vicious: Excuse me, but your sofa is being ravaged by flames!

Spike: Oh, ravage is a good word. Could he be my 'ravagee'?

Jet: Hey, you might have something there.

Faye: Eh, it sounds too much like 'refugee' or something.

Vicious: Need…fire extinguisher!!!

Jet: Okay, we're getting carried away. None of this is urgent right now. We should really discuss—

Vicious: How to put the damn fire out?!?

Jet: _(to Vicious)_ No, shut up you tit. _(to Spike)_ I want to know why you raped him.

Faye: Oh yeah, I was sort of wondering that myself.

Spike: Well, it all happened was a bright, sunny day on, let's say, Mars, and I was sauntering along on a bustling city street dressed in his weird blue suit, just looking cool and all that. And smoking, of course, because I liked smoking a lot. I also liked being emotionally-repressed. It made me feel macho or cool or something. Why? Because guys are stupid. It's a universal fact—

Jet: This sounds strangely familiar.

Faye: Spike, if you don't mind, could we have the short version? I need to get back to wiggling my ass.

Vicious: _(passed out from smoke intake)_

Spike: Oh ok, lemme put Vicious down, he's getting kind of heavy.

(Vicious's head slams into the metal flooring of the ship and regains consciousness, albeit groggily)

Vicious: _(weakly)_ …nnngghh…

Faye: Actually, I really need to do some sexy posing on the couch, maybe expose my breasts a little. _(looks over at giant living room fire)_ Or I'll go do an unnecessary scene where I stand and let the water drip slowly down my wet skin, instead of scrubbing and splashing myself.

Jet: Sounds like a plan.

Spike: Yep, can't argue with that. But I need the bathroom afterwards to…clean up.

Faye: Sure, sure. _(saunters off skankily)_

Jet: I think I'll go…water my bonsais.

Spike: _(snickers)_

Jet: What?

Spike: …nothing.

Jet: _(leaves the room to…water his bonsais)_

Spike: _(to nobody)_ I guess I'll just…go…to…my room… _(goes to his room)_

Vicious: …ohhh my head… _(wakes up to find himself surrounded by fire and screams like a little girl)_ AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!

End of the Script Format…Thingy Section (congratulations on making it this far)

Fear not. The Bebop and its crew did not go down in flames, although that would have been something to see. But after all, how could Vicious just die after one sexual harassment incident? That's hardly climatic. So as it turned out, Vicious used his great resourcefulness and, uhhh, stamped out the fire with his bare feet. Which is as likely weird bulletproof clown killer who can fly and that happened! So way to go, Vicious!


End file.
